In Sin and Error Pinning
by Liza Hayes
Summary: Dean has a rough Christmas during the year that he spend with Lisa and Ben, so instead of family time he gets close and personal with a bottle of whiskey and maybe starts to come to terms with some of his emotions while he hates the holiday season. But after a few minutes in a church, he ends up kneeling in the snow and sending up a prayer to Cas. (Pre-slash, no Desttiel...yet.)


In Sin and Error Pinning

Dean took another sip of whiskey, setting it back down on the counter and listening to the ice clinking in the now empty glass. A tinny Christmas carol is playing over the bars speakers, echoing in the nearly empty room. Other than the bartender and Dean, there's only one other customer and he's asleep at a corner table. Apparently the bar tender can't be bothered with throwing him out into the snow on Christmas Eve, so he's letting the man sleep off his drunken stupor while wipes the counters down with a filthy rag. Christmas is officially the worst holiday in the world.

He's never been a huge fan of Christmas - when he was little maybe, but he doesn't remember the holiday well. After their mom died, Christmas for the Winchesters meant a dark night, maybe some presents, and their dad passed out drunk in their motel room if he couldn't find a hunt to distract himself with that night. He and Sammy usually spent it together, watching a movie and drinking eggnog. Dean always made sure that Sammy got presents and some semblance of family time. On Christmas Day they would go to a dinner and have lunch together.

He misses his amulet sometimes; the one Sammy gave him one Christmas when they were kids. He remembers every Christmas, even the shitty ones, because they were the time of year that you were supposed to tell your family that you loved them, to give presents, to spend time together without feeling like a sissy. It was the only time he'd ever been able to do those things without question. He'd always tried to give Sammy the best Christmases he could and, though he often failed, it had been worth it when his baby brother's face lit up during the successes. And Sammy has always loved him, even when he'd screwed up. This year…is not his year.

He realizes that he should be at home with Lisa and Ben, celebrating the holidays, spending time together as a family – giving those same kinds of holiday memories to the people he has left. He's not. He's here, drinking away his memories of Sam. Trying to drown himself in whiskey to forget about his dead baby brother; Cas, who hasn't spoken to him in months; and Bobby who's barely said a word to him since the showdown in Lawrence. Hell, he's even started to miss Chuck who disappeared too. He's been good for most of the year. He's been able to push through, act normal, ignore the way his world fell apart as he watched his little brother fall backwards into Lucifer's cage. He has a job, a girlfriend, a kid – sort of. He drives a car, he has normal friends, he doesn't hunt. Everything should be fine, right as rain, normal. Normal. Average. Simple.

It doesn't feel right though. Not only is he missing Sam, but this life… this life was meant for his little brother, not Dean. He was never supposed to live past 60. He'd resigned himself to his fate long ago, even before his trip to hell – though that had cemented things for him. Life for hunters tended to be short lived, it just came with the territory. Bobby's age was, frankly, miraculous, though he knew better than to say that to Bobby's face.

He wasn't supposed to be living this life, Sam was, and that filled him with no end of guilt. He'd promised Sammy that he would live his life though, so now, if he were to try to find a way to bring Sam back, one form of guilt would give way to another. Even if he found a way, what would happen? God, he can't imagine what that cage is like for Sammy. He's drowning in guilt anyway, doesn't need more, so he takes another swig of whiskey, draining the glass.

It doesn't stop hurting. Instead, he just trudges on through the pain of losing Sammy, losing hunting, losing everything he ever was. Tonight, he just can't do it anymore. He's been building up to this night, felt it prickling beneath his skin for the last two weeks. Every happy family moment he's seen has made him scream inside. Christmas carols have made him homicidal. He briefly considered killing a mall Santa. Shopping for Christmas presents made him seriously consider eating a bullet. Now tonight he's sitting in a grungy bar, with something sticky on his sleeve from the less-than-clean counter top and a flickering neon light that's giving him a headache. That could have something to do with being slobbering drunk though.

He waves at the bartender for another refill and this time, he drains the glass instantly before slamming it down on the bar. Tears well behind his eyes with the burn of the whiskey…It's definitely the burn of the whiskey. Not anything else. Not Sammy. Not the memories. Surely he's drunk those away by now.

Except that he hasn't and he never will. Those memories are here to stay, forever, and he can't even decide how he feels about that. On the one hand, he never wants to forget his baby brother or the life they had together. On the other, he'd rather die than see Sammy's smiling face behind his eyelids, wearing those stupid Christmas antlers from when he was 13, gangly and ridiculous looking. He can't deal with that pain, not tonight. He can muddle through during the rest of the year, but this time it's just been too much and pushed him right over the edge. He drains another glass and the burning behind his eyes turns to a prickle and fades. The warmth spreading through his chest is no longer from emotion. Instead he thinks it might be that his blood is actually just whiskey at this point.

He stands up from the barstool and the room spins. He grabs at the counter, swaying, and nearly knocks his glass over. He's pretty sure that the Moosehead Lager mascot just waved at him, and might have winked, and he's pretty sure that's a sign he's had enough to drink. He didn't drive, so he has a long walk home in the snow. That's fine, maybe it will sober him up a bit before he finds a friend's couch to crash on. Ben doesn't need to see him like this. All the Christmases of Dean's own childhood, watching his father drink, that's enough. He won't go home like this, not to Ben who needs a real role model. Not some washed up hunter with a drinking problem, who brings nothing but death to those he loves and has more emotional baggage than any person can reasonably be expected to handle.

He stumbles out of the bar and looks up at the sky. It's cloudy and snowing, but there are stars twinkling in the distance. It's honestly a beautiful night, if you don't want to kill yourself. Hell, maybe even if you do. You might as well go out with a smile. He zips up his jacket and stuffs his hands in the pockets, regretting not bringing gloves. Fortunately, the snow isn't heavy, but the light fluffy kind that floats down and clings to trees, creating that perfect white Christmas that everyone's always hoping for.

Christmas lights are up all over the city's downtown, and the snow sparkling from the sky is making them twinkle and spin before his eyes, blurring and turning into bright orbs of light. He can't see and stumbles on some ice and realizes that he is, in fact, crying and he feels stupid. He grabs at the wall beside him, ignoring the cold bite of the brick and tries to steady himself while he wipes his eyes.

He turns the wrong way a few blocks later, even drunker than he realized, and ends up walking through an area he's never seen before. He knows that getting lost in the snow is how people end up dead but… he can't bring himself to care. It's a beautiful night, the cold air feels nice on his hot, tear streaked cheeks, and he's simply too drunk to be able to find his way home anyway. It's not as if there's anyone around to ask for directions. Every sane, normal person is at home with his or her family, enjoying the holiday. In the distance, he can see more lights, so he heads that way and within a few minutes finds himself stumbling towards a beautiful, old, stone church.

Its windows are full of light, spilling out onto the snow outside in Technicolor, like God's been splashing rainbows around. There's a huge stained glass window beneath the bell tower displaying an angel, who seems to be carved in light. It's draped in white cloth, blowing a horn, and seems to be smirking slightly beneath its halo. He briefly wonders if it's meant to be Gabriel, because that would definitely explain the smirk.

Beneath all of that is a set of massive wooden doors, one of which is partially open with more light spilling out onto the sidewalk. From inside the church, he can hear singing. It seems like a Christmas Eve ceremony and he can hear the choir singing "Hark the Herald". He wanders towards the church and slips inside just as the song crescendos. It's beautifully done. Not that Dean really appreciates choirs for their music, usually, but these kids have nice voices and the church's acoustics give the song a nice roundness. _Roundness? Is that a thing?_ He wonders before settling down in a seat near the back to listen to the choir as they finish their song.

_Born that man no more may die  
Born to raise the sons of earth  
Born to give them second birth  
Hark! The herald angels sing  
"Glory to the newborn King!"_

He stays then, and listens to the pastor speak for a little while, reciting the same usual mumbo-jumbo about religion and Christ and acceptance. Dean notices that Christ has never shown up for any of this bullshit, and files away a note to himself to ask Cas if the guy ever actually existed. If he ever sees Cas again…

He watches the congregation lighting candles and praying together. But as the children begin to sing again, he feels the warmth in his chest again, and it isn't caused by the whiskey, and neither is the pricking behind his eyes, and he just can't stand it anymore. He leaps up, nearly tripping over the pew, and throws himself back outside where the cold air is like a slap to the face. He gulps and closes his eyes against the stinging sensation forming behind his eyelids, pushing the tears down again into that dark place where he always keeps them.

That dark pit of emotion is starting to feel awfully full though, and he's not sure how much more he can stuff down inside, which scares him more than anything else. He doesn't know what will happen if that well of emotion ever bursts. He'll probably take himself out, but he doesn't want to take anyone else out with him. Maybe he should leave Lisa and Ben while he still can, before some one gets hurt… No. He promised Sam. He promised that he'd live a full life, go out and be normal. He'll get over all of this as soon as Christmas is over. He'll be back to normal. So maybe Christmas will suck for the rest of his life, he can live with that. He can find a way to deal with it. He has to.

_O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,  
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.  
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.  
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth. _

Children's voices echoes out of the building again, filling the air with music that feels so real that it almost pushes against his skin. A breeze ruffles his hair, turning up his coat collar against the cold, and pushing his hair out of his eyes like invisible fingers. He closes his eyes briefly against the warm, gentle breeze. His tears dry on his cheeks until he can barely feel them anymore. This choir is good, their voices mixing together just right, filling the song with emotion.

Outside the church, there's a nativity scene. It's huge, almost life sized. Animals arrayed around the baby Jesus in his manger. Mary and Joseph leaning over him, love in their eyes – actually the carvings are beautiful and quite impressive, if you can be bothered to give a crap. Three wise men are arranged around the outside, leading camels with their backs laden with gifts. There are pigeons in the rafters of the makeshift barn, but they appear to be of the real, feathered variety, sheltering from the cold. Above it all sits an angel, white gown glowing and wings shimmering in the moonlight. It hits him, then, how confused humans are about the nature of angels. How they're nothing but smug, simpering pricks, hell bent on destroying everyone and everything for the sake of their stupid sibling squabbles. He hates the angels, in that moment. Hates them for everything they've done to him, all the hurt they've caused, all the pain and anguish. He'd thought angels were meant to be guardians, protectors. He'd hope that's what they were, but it turns out they're soldiers and warriors. Not the way he and Sammy were – angels don't defend the innocent, try to save humans, hunt monsters – but just soldiers blindly following their orders, unable to even comprehend how to deal with their free will.

_A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,  
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.  
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!  
O night divine, the night when Christ was born; _

He drops to his knees as the choir's voices fill the street with music, soaring out over the area and causing the tears to, finally, spill down his face. He can't keep them in anymore, can't keep pretending. Once more he wishes that he couldn't feel a damn thing, wishes it would all end, wishes that something could break his promise to Sam for him, so that he doesn't have to betray his brother, but so that he can stop living like this. On his knees in the snow, he looks up at the nativity display on the church's lawn, staring at the ridiculous angel on display.

"Castiel," he says. "Get your feathery ass down here." Nothing happens. "I know I've tried this already. It's never worked before why would it change now… Cas, could you get down here and talk to me?"

"Please…" he whispers. "Cas, buddy, I need you. I know this isn't how prayers are supposed to work. I know… I jus-" he feels his breath catch in his throat.

"I don't think I can go on like this. I've never hurt like this before. This is a cakewalk compared to Hell. At least back then I knew that Sammy was safe, you know? And… I didn't have you back then either," he says, reluctantly. He's not sure he's ready to admit how much he misses that idiotic angel, with the stick up his ass. Maybe a whole pine tree at this point, given the time of year. He chuckles wetly at the mental image that provides. _Holy Tax Accountant tree topper_, he thinks.

"It's not just Sammy. I miss you too," he stumbles, rushing to add: "And Bobby, Ellen, Jo, everyone that we've lost. I even miss that smug brother of yours.

"I just end up feeling ungrateful though. I should be glad that so many of us survived the apocalypse. I have everything a man should want… but I'm still the loneliest I've ever been. I feel like there's a hole in my chest again and I can't even try to fill it without tearing everything down.

"If you were here, you'd lecture me about how this isn't actually Jesus' birthday. Hell, I've been meaning to ask you if Christ ever actually existed. I'd have anted to have Christmas with you, you know. We could have had eggnog and a tree and presents. We could have done all the ridiculous human stuff together. Sammy would have loved it. Bobby too.

"It's not the same without any of you. I'm not sure it ever will be again. My life has changed. It almost feels like its over…even though I know it's just supposed to be starting, right? I'm supposed to be doing all this shit? Living my life, the way Sam wanted me too… Man, It just doesn't feel right. It feels so empty and kind of… meaningless. I miss hunting. Not just the thrilling parts, but saving people. Doing something that felt like I was contributing to the world. Not being…useless," he whispers, swiping away tears again.

Cas can't pretend that Dean's thoughts about angels don't hurt. He knows, in his heart, that they aren't directed at him, but he wishes he could have protected the hunter. Dean, whose mother used to say that angels were watching over him. Dean, whose mother was right about the angels, but wrong about the reasons. Really, this is why Dean's faith has failed so badly, because even the things his mother taught him about the world – the things he should (and thought he could) have trusted -were false. Everything was ripped away from him by angels. And returned by an unknown – and maybe unknowable - source. So he understands why Dean is struggling with his faith. He just doesn't know how to help. His own faith has been tested so thoroughly, that he's not even entirely sure where he stands anymore.

He looks down on Dean, kneeling before him in the snow, and wishes with all his heart that he could go to him. He wants to raise Dean up, once again, to wrap him in his arms and remake him. He wants to tell Dean that Sam is alive, that Bobby misses him, that Castiel has never really left his side, but he knows that he can't do any of that.

He hopes that Dean will never know what Cas has done for him. He crouches down and gently brushes his hands against Dean's cheek again, soft as a breeze and invisible to the hunter kneeling in the snow beside him. He can see inside Dean's mind, knows his thoughts of suicide, his wish to end it all, but he also knows that Dean will never break his word to Sam. So he rises and turns away, quietly disappearing back to Crowley's side, because he knows that Dean will survive because of his promise to his brother. He hopes to have the chance to put the shattered pieces of Dean's soul back together later on. But he hopes that Lisa will do it first, so that Dean can stay away from hunting and live the life he was meant to have.

He kneels in the snow and bows his head in prayer once more. Nothing happens. A long time ago, Cas would have appeared with a flutter of wings. He would have had that perpetual look of annoyance at the summons, with his rumpled trench coat and tousled hair. Dean tries not to think about the angel's too dry lips, inside out tie, quizzical, endearing expression - all things that Dean misses. Now Cas doesn't appear at all. There's no soft fluttering, no electrical charge in the air, sending sparks along Dean's skin, making his nerves sing and his arms prickle with Goosebumps. Stupid angels, with their mojo, making him tingle all over.

Once, Dean would have raged against the heavens, letting his disappointment overwhelm him. He would have cursed, thrown things, destroyed the nativity scene. Pelted that stupid, smug angel with snowballs. Tonight he simply stands up, brushes the snow from his wet pants and turns back towards the street. He's sober enough to find his way home now and prays that he will never see this church again. One more bad memory to add to the stack, pushed down deep into his heart, never to be addressed again if he can help it. He trudges back through the snow, taking out his cell phone to call Tony.

He answers and tells Dean that he's at his family's for the holiday, but that there's a spare key hidden under the door mat and, yeah, Dean can crash on his couch for the night. Dean hangs up the phone and turns toward Darwin Street and Tony's apartment, shuffling his way through the snow and blowing on his hands to keep them warm.


End file.
